Blindsided
by beckyharvey29
Summary: Ian and Mickey are best friends and roommates. What happens when one of them wants to be something more?


Mickey was having a hard time keeping his best friend upright, considering he was half-drunk off his ass himself. They stumbled sideways and collapsed against the wall.

Even though it sounded like it hurt, Ian was feeling no pain as he let out a howl of laughter that echoed down the entire length of the hallway. It was a little after three AM, and Mickey could only hope that none of their neighbors were awake. They were already in deep shit with their landlord, having been a week and a half late on their rent this month.

"Keep your fuckin' voice down," Mickey hissed as he pulled Ian back upright away from the wall. They were only ten steps away from their door—give or take a few steps—but it seemed a hell of a lot fucking further, given that Ian was dead weight and wasn't helping Mickey's efforts worth shit.

Ian slumped against Mickey, leaning half of his weight on him. " 'm tired. Hurry up."

"Well, as soon as I get your tall, lanky, inebriated ass in the door, you can go to sleep," Mickey slurred. Finally (fucking finally!) they made it to apartment 4B, and Mickey had to practically hold Ian up between his own body and the wall. Ian let out a deep sigh and buried his face in the crook of Mickey's neck, his breath hot and moist against Mickey's skin. Mickey ignored the flutter in his chest and focused on retrieving the keys from his back pocket.

A part of Mickey thought that maybe Ian was taking advantage of the situation, but he would wait until morning to call him out on it.

After a few moments, Mickey realized he didn't have his keys on him and he sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he muttered, knowing exactly where his keys were; on the kitchen counter where he had forgotten to grab them earlier. "Yo, whiskey breath," he said, smoothing a hand over the back of Ian's head, wondering if Ian had passed out with his face burrowed in Mickey's neck. "You got your keys on you?"

Ian grumbled something incoherent that sounded suspiciously like _'front pocket'_.

Mickey hesitated and closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was to dig his hand in Ian's front pocket. But they needed to get inside, and Ian couldn't even stand up straight, let alone retrieve his keys. Mickey didn't think too much about why he didn't even have Ian at least attempt the task…

Mickey removed his left hand from where it was holding Ian around the waist and slid it into Ian's pocket. "Christ, why do you wear your pants so fuckin' tight," he grumbled, his mouth next to Ian's ear. "How do your balls even fuckin' breathe in these things?"

"Why d'you care 'bout my balls so much?" Ian drawled.

"Asshole," Mickey mumbled as his fingers wrapped around the keys in Ian's pocket. He pulled them out, thankful that he hadn't felt or touched anything he shouldn't have. He fumbled with the keys for a moment—having to focus his blurred vision first—and then finally got the door unlocked. He maneuvered Ian to the side and then lost his footing, causing them both to stumble and fall into the apartment.

Mickey fell hard on top of Ian with a grunt.

"The fuck, Mickey," Ian groaned, shifting under Mickey's weight.

Mickey stared down at him for a moment before dipping his head. He pressed his forehead to Ian's chest and let out a hearty laugh.

"The fuck's so funny?" Ian asked, his face scrunching in irritation.

Mickey pulled back and looked down at his best friend, taking in his bloodshot eyes, and disheveled, sweaty-faced appearance. "You. _You_ look fuckin' ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous. You gettin' drunk off your ass and having a five-foot-seven guy carry your eight foot ass home is ridiculous."

"Fuck you," Ian mumbled, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. "Can't help it you're freakishly small."

Mickey continued staring down at him, the smile slipping from his face. His eyes searched Ian's face as he watched him, feeling that familiar tug in his chest that he'd been feeling more and more lately. He finally realized he was being creepy as fuck and decided to peel himself off of Ian.

"Come on," he said, kicking Ian lightly in the ribs to wake him. "You're not sleepin' on the floor. At least let me take you to the couch."

"No, let's just sleep here," Ian muttered, not even opening his eyes. "It's comfortable."

"Ain't no fuckin' way a hardwood floor is comfortable," Mickey snipped. He was starting to get irritated. His own head was throbbing, and all he wanted to do was crawl under his blankets and sleep until three.

Ian let out an agitated moan before lifting his arms up limply. "Fine. Help me up."

Mickey rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue before grabbing Ian's hands. He planted his feet and then used all of his strength to pull Ian up. Of fucking course Ian didn't help at all and fell against Mickey, causing Mickey to stumble backwards against the wall by the force of it.

Ian was pressed against him, his face once again nuzzled in Mickey's neck. "Smell good," he mumbled.

Mickey's heart sped up as Ian began pressing moist, chaste kisses along his neck. "What're you doin', Ian?" he asked, knowing he should push his friend away right the fuck now, but something was stopping him. Ian felt good pressed against him. Ian's mouth felt good on his neck. And, when Ian snaked a hand under Mickey's shirt and feathered his fingers over Mickey's skin, that felt good too.

" 'm horny," Ian panted breathlessly as he licked his way up to Mickey's ear. "Want you," he muttered hotly.

"Ian," Mickey said, pressing a hand to Ian's chest and pushing him away, finally coming to his senses.

This definitely wasn't anything new. Ian and Mickey had been best friends for years, living together for a couple of those years. It had always been platonic. They were both gay, but it had never been anything more between them. But, sometimes, when Ian got drunk, he got handsy. He had kissed Mickey once or twice before, only to have Mickey stop it before it went any further. Ian may have grabbed Mickey's dick through his pants once before, only for Mickey to push his hand away. None of those things were ever brought up again the next morning.

So, really, this was nothing new. It's just the way Ian got when he was drunk. Add that to the fact that he had just broken up with his boyfriend that day, and Mickey got it. He was used to it, and knew when to stop it.

The only thing is, this time—for some reason—Mickey was reluctant to make him stop.

Still, Mickey knew he had to make Ian stop. Doing anything sexual with Ian—especially while he was drunk—would be the absolute worst fucking thing Mickey could do.

"You know this is a bad fucking idea."

"Just this once."

"You know why we can't," Mickey said, his breath hitching when Ian tongued the shell of his ear, sending shivers down Mickey's spine.

"We can jus' blame it on the alcohol in the mornin'," Ian slurred, and that's when Mickey knew for sure that Ian wasn't nearly as drunk as he appeared to be. "Could be just a one time thing."

"You know it wouldn't be that easy," Mickey said, his eyes slipping closed as Ian palmed him through his pants.

"Who says?" Ian mumbled, pulling away from Mickey's ear and then kissing him. There was nothing slow and sensual about it, their tongues tangled and they moaned into each other's mouths as lust took over and all coherent, rational thought went out the window.

Fuck it. They could blame it on the alcohol in the morning.

Mickey groaned and surged forward, placing his hands on Ian's hips and pushing Ian back towards the couch. Funny how Ian seemed to be able to walk just fine now, Mickey thought in the back of his head.

Ian fell back onto the couch and then immediately grabbed for Mickey, pulling his best friend down and on his lap.

Mickey straddled Ian and grabbed the back of the couch with his hands, caging Ian in. "You're an asshole, you know that," he murmured before leaning in to kiss Ian again, this time the kiss was slow and searching.

Ian moaned into Mickey's mouth as he snuck his hands underneath Mickey's shirt, his cold fingers lightly feathering over the warm skin of Mickey's back.

"Fuck," Mickey gasped, arching his back. "Why the fuck're your hands always so goddamn cold?"

"Guess I need to warm 'em up then," Ian murmured, and then he slid his hands under the waistband of Mickey's jeans and grabbed his ass.

Mickey leaned in and pressed his forehead to Ian's. He tried not to moan like a little bitch as Ian's large hands kneaded his ass, but he failed.

"You know how hard it is to live here and always have to look at this ass, knowin' I can't have it?" Ian rasped, his breath hot and wispy between the two inches that separated their mouths.

Without thinking much about it—finally allowing the effects of the alcohol to do all his thinking for him—Mickey began rutting slowly against Ian, already feeling that his best friend was hard. "Fuck," he murmured.

Ian leaned in and pecked Mickey's lips, and then kissed his way down Mickey's chin and then his neck. He nipped at the warm, sweet skin and then began sucking, intent on marking Mickey up.

"No," Mickey said, pulling back, feeling as if he'd just had a bucket of ice water dumped on him. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"You fuckin' know why," Mickey snipped. He then sighed and climbed off of Ian's lap. He paced to the other side of the room, resisting the strong urge to punch a wall. "What the fuck're we doing?" he asked, spinning around to glare at Ian, who was looking up at him with those fucking eyes that were going to be the death of Mickey. "We can't fuckin' do this."

"Why n—"

"You really wanna fucking ask me that?" Mickey snapped. "Why not?! I'll tell you why the fuck not. We're friends, Ian. And we're fuckin' _roommates_. And—in case you've forgotten—I have a fuckin' boyfriend!"

Ian's face fell. "Oh, so what? He's your boyfriend now? I wasn't aware the two of you were labeling shit."

Mickey ran a hand over his hair and closed his eyes. "We've been seeing each other for three months. What the fuck you think we are?"

"I don't know," Ian said stiffly. "Fuck buddies? So, you have feelings for this guy?"

Mickey turned around and headed towards the kitchen, stopping to flip the switch for the overhead lights as he went, without giving Ian warning, knowing the light would hurt his eyes. "Look, it doesn't fuckin' matter how serious me and Trevor are. The point is—you and me—it ain't happening." He paused his rant to grab a beer from the fridge, anxious to get his buzz back.

Ian stood up from the couch and walked over to him. His jaw was stiff and his eyes were searching as he crowded into Mickey's personal space, pushing his best friend back against the counter. It looked as if he wanted to say something important, but he eventually backed off. "Fine," he finally said. "I'm going to bed."

Mickey pulled the beer away from his mouth and sighed. "Aye, look…Ian, we need to talk about this, man."

"What's to talk about?" Ian said blandly over his shoulder. "We made out a little and you shut me down. I get it, alright?" He walked into his bedroom and—before shutting the door—he said, "better text your _boyfriend_. Let him know you made it home okay."

* * *

Mickey woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. The events from the night before came flooding to his mind, and he buried his face in his hands with a groan, not wanting to face Ian.

What the fuck had he been thinking, even letting it get that far? He had allowed a little bit of alcohol to take over, and he had potentially fucked everything up.

Sure, he found Ian attractive. He wasn't blind, the guy was fucking hot. And, yeah, Ian was a good kisser and probably an even better lay, if the moans and screams coming from Ian's bedroom every time he brought someone home was anything to go by.

But Ian was his friend. His _best_ fucking friend. And they lived together. Getting involved in some sort of fucked up physical relationship would be a disaster.

Not to mention the fact that Mickey was seeing someone.

He looked over at the bedside table, and then grunted as he reached over to grab his phone. Sure enough, there was a text message from Trevor asking if Mickey had made it home okay.

Mickey shot him a quick text to let Trevor know that he was safe, before tossing his phone haphazardly back on the table.

He had met Trevor in the fucking grocery store of all places (go figure) a little over three months ago. Trevor was cute and funny and had tried a little too hard, and Mickey had found himself accepting his phone number without much thought. They got along good and the sex was fucking awesome. Mickey had no complaints.

Trevor, on the other hand, did. Even though he didn't bring it up nearly as much as he did when he and Mickey had first gotten together, Trevor made it clear that he didn't like Ian and Mickey living together. He had even tried hinting around for Mickey to move in with him instead, but Mickey wasn't fucking having that. Dates and making out were one thing Mickey was still getting used to; living with the fucking guy was taking it too far. He had assured Trevor over and over again that Ian was just his friend and nothing more— _never_ anything more—and Trevor was just finally starting to accept that.

And then Mickey had to go and shove his fucking tongue down Ian's throat, and dry hump him like some little middle school bitch.

He didn't know what the fuck he was going to do.

Deciding to finally get the inevitable over with, he tossed the blankets away from his body and left his bedroom. He padded towards the kitchen in his socked feet, and found Ian at the stove scrambling eggs.

Ian was wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, and Mickey found himself admiring Ian's toned back. He averted his eyes quickly and slid onto one of the stools at the counter island. "Aye."

Ian glanced at Mickey over his shoulder before looking back down at the eggs, "Hey."

Mickey ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Look, shit isn't going to be weird between us now, is it?"

"Nope," Ian said with a pop of his lips as he grabbed two plates from the cupboard.

Mickey narrowed his eyes as he watched Ian stiffly plate the eggs. "You sure? 'Cause you're acting pretty fuckin' weird right now."

Ian carried the two plates over and placed one in front of Mickey. He then leaned against the counter and dug into his own food, avoiding Mickey's eyes. "All good here."

Mickey's eyes searched Ian's face, silently wondering how Ian could still look so good even after a night of endless beers and jello shots. "Ian," he said sternly and waited for Ian to finally look at him. When Ian finally did look at him, Mickey continued, "You know last night was a mistake, right? It shouldn't have happened."

Ian slowly chewed his eggs, and then finally nodded.

If Mickey didn't know any better, he would think that Ian looked on the verge of tears? He watched dumbfounded as Ian turned away to dump his food in the trash.

" 'm not really hungry. I'm gonna go for a jog, take advantage of the nice weather." As Ian was making his way past Mickey to head to his room, Mickey reached out and grabbed Ian's forearm to stop him.

"Aye, talk to me," Mickey said, his voice low and rough. "What's going on? What are you thinking? Last night was just two friends who had a little too much to drink and got a little frisky, right?"

Ian looked down at the hand on his arm, and then slowly lifted his eyes to meet Mickey's.

Without Ian having to say anything, Mickey had his answer. He pulled his hand away from Ian's arm slowly and, in the next instant, his phone buzzed on the counter. Mickey averted his eyes away from Ian's to look down at his phone to find that it Trevor was calling.

When he looked back up, Ian was already heading towards his room.

* * *

A half an hour later, Mickey opened the door. "Aye."

"Hey," Trevor said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Mickey on the lips. He then scrunched his face a little as he brushed past Mickey to come inside. "You still taste like the bar."

"Haven't had a chance to brush my teeth yet," Mickey said as he closed the door and then turned to face the other man.

"Where's Ian?" Trevor asked, with a slight bite to his tone.

"He went for a run. He'll be gone for a little while."

"Oh," Trevor said, smiling lasciviously as he walked closer to wrap his arms around Mickey's waist. "So, we have the place to ourselves for a little while, huh?"

"Yeah," Mickey said as Trevor went to work mouthing at his neck. "Guess so." He closed his eyes and tried to get lost in the feel of Trevor's lips on his skin, but, for some reason, it didn't feel right. Not like last night…

Mickey cleared his throat and pulled away. "Let me go take a quick shower first and brush my teeth before we take this further."

"Why?" Trevor asked as he wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist to hold him closer. "You're just going to get dirty again anyway."

Just as Mickey opened his mouth to say something, the door opened and Ian walked in. Mickey watched as Ian lifted his head and froze at the sight in front of him. He then watched as Ian's face grew red and took in how quickly Ian averted his eyes away.

"Shit, sorry," Ian murmured. "Just forgot my iPad."

Mickey pulled away from Trevor as Ian brushed past them to head towards his room.

"The fuck's his problem?" Trevor murmured as he headed towards the kitchen and to the fridge, as if he owned the place. It annoyed Mickey a little, how comfortable Trevor always made himself, but he didn't make a big deal about it.

"He broke up with Jermaine the other day. He's taking it pretty hard," Mickey lied, knowing that it was something else that was bugging Ian.

"Oh, so he's single now?" Trevor asked, and Mickey didn't miss the sharp edge in his tone.

Mickey sighed, already knowing where this conversation was headed. "Yeah. He's single."

"Huh," Trevor said flatly before taking a sip of his water.

Mickey smirked. "What was that noise for?"

"Nothing."

"I know what you're fuckin' thinking, alright?" Mickey snipped. "Nothing is going to happen between us, _fuck_. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I see the way he looks at you," Trevor said, taking another sip of his water. "Sometimes I think you look at him the same way."

Mickey pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, because Trevor was a fucking moron. Yes, Mickey found Ian attractive. Yes, Mickey knew that Ian was amazing. Yes, they made out the night before and it had been hot as hell, but it meant nothing. He didn't see Ian like that. He just wished Trevor would fucking drop it already.

"Ian is my friend, alright?" Mickey said flatly. "That's all he's ever going to fucking be. I don't see him like that and I never will. Either believe me, or there's the fucking door."

Mickey saw something move in his periphery, and he looked over just in time to see Ian leave out the door, shutting it hard behind him.

When he looked back at Trevor, he found his boyfriend watching him with an arched eyebrow as he sipped his water. "You sure he knows that?"

* * *

Ian had been gone for hours. Usually, when he went out for runs, he was back within an hour or two. He had already been gone for four.

Mickey was getting impatient. He needed to talk to Ian, and he needed to talk to him now. He had to get this shit straightened out before shit hit the fan. There was just absolutely no fucking way anything could ever happen between them. He was intent on shutting shit down before it escalated.

He was pacing the living room floor…getting increasingly more angry with every text Ian was ignoring. Finally, the door opened and he spun around, intent on asking Ian what the fuck his problem was.

The words caught in his throat, however, when Ian came stumbling backwards into the apartment, wrapped up in some dude's fucking arms, their mouths locked in a hungry, biting kiss.

Mickey watched as hands roamed; he watched as the stranger kicked the door shut behind him. He even watched as the guy pulled Ian against him, eliciting a satisfied groan from the redhead. That was all Mickey could take. He knew—at the rate things were going—that he had to stop this shit before Ian was fucking the guy on the floor right in front of him.

"Are you fuckin' serious right now?"

Ian pulled away from the intense kiss and looked over at Mickey, his pupils blown and his lips swollen. The man was kissing at Ian's neck now, unperturbed by Mickey's presence.

Mickey stared right back, his eyebrows shooting up and his heart racing in his throat. "Who the fuck's this?! You go out on a jog and bring back a fucking random?"

"Met him in the park," Ian said breathlessly.

Mickey licked his lips and arched his eyebrows even higher. It took everything in him to not march over and pull the man away from Ian and toss him out of the fucking apartment.

Ian stared back heatedly. "We'll take it to my room," he finally said. "Wouldn't want to be in your way." He grabbed the guy's hand and led him down the small hallway towards his room, leaving Mickey to watch after them.

Mickey stood frozen in the middle of the living room, listening to the thuds and murmurs coming from Ian's bedroom. He then heard a giggle—a fucking giggle!—and that was it. He marched over to Ian's room and pounded on the door. "Open the fuckin' door, asshole!"

"Busy!" came the muffled replied.

"Open the goddamn door, or I'll fucking kick it down, I swear to god," Mickey spat, and then the door opened suddenly, revealing a shirtless, sweaty, pissed off Ian.

"What?"

Mickey stared back at him, pursing his lips and trying to ignore the guy sprawled out half naked on Ian's bed. He didn't know why he was letting this get to him so much. Fuck, Ian brought guys home all the time. He had been in a fucking relationship with Jermaine for a little over four months. Why was this getting to him now?

When Mickey didn't say anything, Ian gave him a look. "Well? What the fuck do you want? I'm kinda busy in here."

"Ian," Mickey said, but didn't go any further. He searched Ian's face, watching as his best friend's face softened a little.

Ian sighed, and then pressed his forehead to the edge of the door before looking over his shoulder at the guy. "Roommate wants you to leave."

"Or your roommate can join," the man said suggestively.

"The fuck—" Mickey snapped, as he moved to pummel the guy, but Ian stopped him with a hand to the chest.

"You have to go," Ian said again, "now."

The guy reluctantly got up and gathered his shirt and shoes from the floor, before brushing past them to make his way towards the front door, his eyes locked disdainfully with Mickey's the entire way.

Once they were alone, Mickey turned to give Ian a baleful look. "Really? That guy? Did you just close your eyes and randomly pick the first fuckwad you came across?"

Ian rolled his eyes and made his way towards the kitchen. "Don't fucking worry about why I chose him," he said as he went to the fridge. "Why don't you tell me why the fuck you felt the need to interrupt us? It was fucking rude."

"Yeah, well, I didn't wanna hear that shit," Mickey said, knowing it was much more than that—for reasons he didn't even want to think about—but he wasn't going to tell Ian that. "Sounded like a pack of fucking hyenas in there."

"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian said, moving to walk away. "Maybe I should just move out and get my own place then."

Ian's words caused Mickey's head to shoot up. "The fuck you just say?"

Ian sighed and hung his head. He turned around to face Mickey, his face softened. They locked eyes and Ian spoke. "I'm serious. Maybe it's time for me to go."

"The fuck're you talking about?"

"We've been living together for almost two years now and…things are getting complicated."

"How are they complicated?"

Ian smirked and tilted his head. "You know why."

"No, I don't know why," Mickey snipped. "I thought things were going pretty fucking good. We stay out of each other's way, we split the bills, we like all the same shit—"

Ian heaved a sigh and interrupted him. "You _know_ why."

Mickey looked at him blankly, shrugging his shoulders.

"You really want me to fucking spell it out for you?" Ian exclaimed. "You really need to hear me say that I'm fuckin' in love with you? That I've _been_ in love with you, and that every day I live here with you—unable to touch you, unable to tell you…having to hear you be with _him_ —is fuckin' torture for me, Mickey. Is that what you wanna hear?"

Ian's words hung in the air as they stood facing each other.

"It's torture," Ian said again, his words softer this time. "I can't do it anymore. I can't pretend I'm drunk just to cop a few feels every now and then. I can't watch you be with someone else. And, the truth of the matter—which you so blatantly expressed to your boyfriend earlier—is that you'll never feel that way about me."

Mickey just watched him, not knowing what to say, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

"So, I should go. If I want to save our friendship, I need to go," Ian said, and then sighed while rubbing a hand over his hair. "It's nothing you did wrong, alright? You didn't do anything wrong, this is my shit I gotta deal with."

Mickey gnawed on his bottom lip and finally nodded.

"I'll…I'll give you my share of next month's rent…but I think I should leave. Tomorrow. I'll go stay with Fiona for a little while until I find another place."

"Ian."

Ian looked at Mickey and smiled gently, even though his eyes shone a little with unshed tears. "It's alright. I'll be alright." He then turned and headed back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Later that night, Mickey and Trevor were lounging on the couch watching the latest bootlegged movie they had acquired. Mickey found that he couldn't really concentrate, his eyes averting to Ian's closed bedroom door every few minutes.

"You okay?" Trevor asked. "You're quiet tonight."

"Yeah, just got some shit on my mind," Mickey said, rubbing a hand over his face. He then reached for the remote and paused the movie. "Ian's moving out." He watched Trevor's face, knowing that it was probably taking everything the other man had in him not to jump for joy.

"He is? Why?"

"It's just time, I guess," Mickey said with a shrug.

"Did something happen?" Trevor asked, his tone accusing.

"No, nothing happened."

"So…he's just leaving? For no reason at all?"

"Are we really going to have this argument right now?" Mickey asked tiredly as he stood up. "I just told you my best fucking friend is moving out, and you want to make it about you."

"Maybe because it's never about me," Trevor bit back. "It's always about _him_."

Mickey turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed. "The fuck're you talking about?"

"He always comes first. Our first date, Ian got locked out of the apartment, you left halfway through dinner to come to his rescue. Ian catches a cold, you spend fifty fucking dollars on medicine for him. We're supposed to be watching movies together tonight, and you're too busy staring at his fucking door. You look like your dog just died just because the guy is moving out."

"The guy's my best fucking friend," Mickey said, cutting him off. "What the fuck else am I—"

Trevor stood up, taking his coat with him. "I think you need to sit back and think about some things."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

Trevor smirked as he slipped his jacket on. "Think about why you don't want to live with me. Think about why you're so bent out of shape over him moving out. Think about why sometimes you mutter his fucking name in your sleep."

Mickey eyebrows furrowed again, and he opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

Trevor sighed and reached up to caress Mickey's cheek. "I'm not mad. Truth is, I saw it a long time ago. I was just hoping I'd be enough." He then pulled his hand away from Mickey's face.

Mickey watched as Trevor walked to the door and then left.

He didn't even try to stop him.

* * *

A little while later, Mickey knocked on Ian's bedroom door and waited for the muffled _'come in'_ before making his way inside.

He found Ian out on the fire escape like always, smoking a cigarette. Mickey climbed his way out of the window and joined him. "The fuck you doin' out here? It's cold."

"Nah," Ian said, handing Mickey the cigarette, "you're just a pussy."

Mickey laughed as he took the cigarette. He bumped his shoulder against Ian's after sitting down next to him. "Fuck you." He could sense Ian looking at him, but he didn't dare to look back.

"All my shit's pretty much packed and ready," Ian said blandly as he rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "Lip has a friend with a truck. They'll be here around noon tomorrow."

Mickey didn't say anything, just puffed on his cigarette.

"So, where's Trevor? Thought you two would be fucking on the couch by now."

"He left."

"Why?"

"Broke up with me." Mickey finally looked over at Ian, whose face was scrunched in confusion.

"He broke up with you?"

"Yeah," Mickey said, looking away and flicking his cigarette.

"What the fuck for?!" Ian asked, his voice going up half an octave.

Mickey laughed at Ian's tone before saying, "He thinks I'm in love with someone else."

Ian was quiet for a long time before saying, "oh."

"I _should_ be pissed the fuck off because I spent ten fuckin' bucks on that movie and wasted a whole fuckin' bag of pizza bagels," Mickey said haughtily, his eyebrows arched as he gave Ian a sideways glance. "The thing is…I'm not mad though, 'cause I think he might be right."

Ian opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped when Mickey gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Mickey stared into Ian's eyes intently and pressed his thumb down a little to part Ian's lips. He tossed the cigarette over the railing before leaning in and pressing his lips softly against Ian's.

Ian kissed him back just as softly. He turned and angled his legs over Mickey's and reached up to tangle his fingers through Mickey's hair.

Mickey moaned into the sweet kiss when their tongues touched. He pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. "Fuck. This is crazy," he said breathlessly.

"Maybe," Ian rasped. "Maybe not."

Mickey pulled back all the way and searched Ian's eyes. "How long have you felt this way?"

"Pretty much since the moment I met you," Ian said softly. "Though it's gotten worse over the last year or two."

Mickey ran a hand through his hair as he tried to process this. "Shit."

"How about you?" Ian asked apprehensively. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," Mickey blurted. "Blindsided. Fuckin'…" his voice trailed off as he turned his head and looked into Ian's eyes, "maybe not so surprised," he said gruffly.

Ian leaned in then and kissed him softly.

Mickey kissed him back and then pulled away. "We have a lot of shit to work through first. A lot of shit to fuckin' discuss and talk about. We can't just jump into something here."

Ian nodded and visibly swallowed, his breathing becoming shallow. He reached up and tugged at the collar of Mickey's shirt. "Right."

Mickey instinctively leaned in and nuzzled his nose in Ian's hair. "We need to take shit slow and make sure we do this right. I want to be sure before we…before we—"

"I know," Ian murmured as his hand moved from Mickey's collar to snake around the back of his neck.

Mickey dipped his head and captured Ian's lips in a searing kiss. It was hungry and desperate and searching. They both stood up together and pressed into each other, their hands moving over each other's bodies, their hands fisting at their clothes.

Before they could completely comprehend how fast things were moving, they both ducked back in through the window and stumbled towards Mickey's bedroom, their lips locked the entire time.

They hastily undressed each other—laughing breathlessly as Ian's head got caught in his shirt, and when Mickey almost tripped over his pants—and then fell onto the bed together.

Before going any further, they slowed things down and took their time—kissing, groping and rutting against each other, getting used to each other's bodies and touches.

"Ian," Mickey rasped as Ian hovered above him. "I don't wanna fuck this shit up, alright? I…you're not just a fuck to me. Fuck, you're—"

"I know," Ian said, smiling down at him softly, already knowing what Mickey was going to say. "You're everything to me too."

Ian then leaned down and kissed him…because he could.


End file.
